Yours In Correspondence
by Weaving Radiance
Summary: On Draco's 16th birthday he is sent a muggle book accompanied by a letter with just an "M" as a signature. As the summer wears on and he faces the Death Eater challenges we all know happen, his correspondence with M might just prove to change his life. MAJOR HIATUS
1. Eragon

_**~~Yours in Correspondence~~  
~By Realmweaver~**_

_Dedicated to anyone who has been affected by books in some way.

* * *

_

**1. Eragon, Christopher Paolini**

"People have an annoying habit of remembering things they shouldn't." ~Brom

July 5th

Very few people knew about Draco Malfoy's birthday. And that's how he preferred it. He didn't like getting too many gifts, or having a birthday party, or anything that usually comes once a year on that special day. Oh, sure, he couldn't deny the lavish gifts that his parents gave him every year, but he could do without the hype. It was unreasonable, impractical, and just plain silly, he thought. So he wasn't expecting anything especially exciting that year before his sixth year at Hogwarts. Nothing particularly special.

So when he woke up around ten o'clock on July the 5th, the day he was born sixteen years ago*, to the call of a house elf named Trinkie, he would be surprised to find that it would lead to a rather unusual birthday present.

"Sir, Mistress Narcissa would like to see you in the drawing room, please sir," she said as he ran a hand through his hair and sat at the edge of his bed.

"Yes, yes, thank you, Trinkie," he replied with a yawn. He stood up and stretched, pulled on a white shirt, and headed out of his room towards the grand staircase.

He walked down the stairs, waving good morning to the various portraits that lined the walls, while rubbing his eyes and trying to wake himself up further.

Finally he came into the room to see his mother, already dressed in some ridiculous and far too fancy dress for a weekday, sifting through the owl post that lay on the coffee table.

She looked up when he walked in. "Good morning, Draco dear," she said. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks, mother," he replied as he sat down across from her. This was why he loved Narcissa so much. She always tried to make the best of everything and put her best foot forward; well, at least for him, if not for the rest of the world. She could be tragically depressed for the world. But he knew that it was quite difficult for her to remain so cheerful when his father was in Azkaban at the moment and there was so much scrutiny towards the Malfoy family, so he had done his best to act just as happy for her.

"I'm afraid that your gift from me and your father is not ready yet, dear, so you'll have to wait another day or two for it," she said, as if her husband were just on another business trip and not holed up in a cell in Azkaban.

"That's perfectly fine, mother," he said lazily, leaning back on the couch and putting his hands behind his head.

"You've gotten a gift from the Parkinson girl, again," Narcissa said, holding up a parcel wrapped in green and tied off with silver ribbon.

Draco sighed and closed his eyes. "What is it? Another piece of jewelry trying to proclaim her undying love to me?"

"I haven't opened it yet. I don't understand; why don't you like her? She comes from a perfectly respectable family and she's quite beautiful—"

"She's got a pug nose!" Draco exclaimed.

"Yes, well, that can be easily overlooked—"

"She's also extremely annoying, clingy, snooty, cowardly, and petty," Draco cut her off. "And you haven't heard her sing."

Narcissa laughed. "Fine then, Draco, I'll have to do some match-making. But why don't you open it anyway. I have to admit, I'm curious. And you must be too."

"Not in the least," he replied, leaning back against the sofa.

"Would you mind if I opened it, then?" she asked.

"No, of course not, mother."

She delicately pulled off the paper and the ribbon to reveal a long velvet box. She let out a little giggle. "You were right, Draco, it _is_ jewelry, I think."

He opened his eyes just to roll them. "Of course it is."

She opened the box and couldn't help but smile. "It's a silver chain, dear, made of letters. I think it says…" she paused, though whether to read it or for dramatic effect Draco couldn't be sure. "It says: 'To-my-Drakie-With-Love-from-Pansy'."

Draco sat up again and spluttered. "That's even worse then last year's!" he said incredulously.

"But I do remember you telling me about something that happened towards the end of last term… I believe you screamed at her to _send_ you your gift, not to give it to you on the last day of term to avoid embarrassment on both sides when you, ahem, 'mortified the shit out of her with rejection'."

He laughed at his mother's use of quoted profanity. "Yes, at least she followed _those_ orders."

Just then a tapping came from the large almost-floor-to-ceiling window that stretched across the expanse of one wall. Draco looked up to see an owl perched on the sill with a parcel hanging from his beak.

"What is it, Draco?" his mother asked, who was on the couch facing away from the window.

"It's an owl!"

"That's strange. I thought all of them came already. Go open the window and bring the creature in, won't you, Draco?"

He obliged and walked over to the window. He opened a pane and the owl hopped onto his arm, gently nudging him with its beak repeatedly. He untied the package from the bird's legs and found a small envelope stuck on.

"There's a note on the parcel."

"Bring the bird over here, Draco."

He walked over and set the owl on the coffee table. It was a Barn Owl, with a large white face and a pretty array of gold, brown, and tan feathers.

"What a lovely owl, isn't she?" Narcissa said. "But who's she from?"

Draco pulled the note from under the strings tying the parcel together and unfolded it.

_Dear Draco, _

_I would prefer _not _to tell you my name, because it might dissuade you from opening the package. But trust me, it's nothing dangerous. Just a small gift for your birthday. Yes, I do remember. It's sort of hard not to remember when Pansy Parkinson is screeching about it all day. After you open it, I think it would be best to tell your mother it's by a new best-selling wizarding author. But it'll be quite obvious to you what the writer truly is. Please enjoy your gift and send Artemis back as soon as you can. She'll know the way._

_Yours truly, _

_-M_

He looked up when he had finished reading. "It's from someone from Hogwarts, I think. And I think it's a girl, by the way it's written. But all it's signed by is 'M'. I think it's a book."

Narcissa's eyebrows scrunched towards the middle of her face. "That really is curious Draco. If it's only signed by an initial, how can you be sure that it's not something dangerous?"

"She said that she avoided telling me her name because it would 'dissuade' me from opening the package. Maybe it's someone from school who I don't get along with."

Narcissa was silent for a minute, thinking. "I will have Trinkie open it and we will stand beside her with wands at the ready. Trinkie!" she barked.

The little house elf walked in. "Yes, mistress?"

She pointed a long, pale finger at the parcel. "Open it."

"Yes, mistress."

Trinkie walked up to the package and dutifully pulled away the brown paper while Draco and Narcissa stood at either side of her, wands trained at it. Eventually a gold box was lying on the coffee table, tied with silver ribbon.

"Keep going, Trinkie," Narcissa prodded.

"Of course, mistress."

Trinkie pulled off the lid and placed it in the pile of brown paper that was now lying on the other side of the coffee table. Inside the box was a dark blue paperback, with the word _Eragon _in gold lettering. The picture of a blue dragon took up almost the entire cover, though it was a strange drawing that didn't really look like any dragon he'd ever heard of. Plus, it didn't snort or wag its head like he expected it to; it was eerily still.

"It _is_ a book," Narcissa said. "But just in case… _Specialis Revelio!_"

Nothing happened.

"I guess it is safe, Draco," she said, picking up the book. "You may go now," she said and waved off Trinkie. "Back to the kitchen." The little elf bowed and backed out the room. "Christopher Paolini," Narcissa read quietly. "A strange name, don't you think? Sounds muggle-ish. And the picture doesn't even move!" she added suspiciously.

"Oh, I've heard of him," Draco lied easily. "He's a newer author, mother. A half-blood. Brilliant bloke, but likes to do things the muggle way." He partly didn't even want to admit it to himself, but he was really intrigued by this book. And "M", as well. So he lied.

Narcissa grumbled to herself. "I'm a bit hesitant on letting you read this book, Draco," she said. "Half-bloods are a bit iffy, especially those who like muggle things."

"I've heard he is quite the writer," he argued.

"Yes, well, if you are so keen on reading it I guess it's fine. But only for that reason. You'll not be… _interacting _with too many half-bloods at school, I hope."

"Of course not, mother," Draco reassured her. "Thank you."

Narcissa nodded. "Alright, then, dear, go along and get some breakfast. Trinkie has already prepared one for you. Go on, then, Draco."

"Thank you mother, again," Draco said as he turned to leave the room.

"Happy Birthday, dear!"

Draco made his way across the house towards the large kitchen, where a dozen house elves prepared the meals, and, occasionally, his mother would come to bake pastries and chocolate chip cookies. But she hadn't done that since before fourth year, when the Dark Lord returned.

_Stop thinking sentimental thoughts, Draco, _he thought to himself. _They've never got your anywhere before, have they?_

"Mr. Malfoy, sir!" Trinkie cried as he walked in. She was as close to a Head-House-Elf as elves could get in a household.

"Trinkie." He nodded.

"Trinkie haves your breakfast for's you, sir," she said.

"Lovely, Trinkie," he replied, taking a seat at the long counter stretching across the kitchen, almost wall-to-wall.

She hopped onto a stool on the other side of the counter and slid a tray in front of him. "There we goes, sir."

Draco placed Eragon on the counter behind the tray and pulled back the cover, listening closely to the gentle crinkling sound it made as it opened. It was very strange, hearing it from a muggle book. The binding was a lot less sturdy and more flimsy compared to wizard paperbacks.

He skimmed the table of contents, seeing strange words and names. The font was strange. It did not seem to be hand-written or typed with a type-writer, either, and the paper was thin and flimsy, like the cover. On the back he found a strange arrangement of numbers that he supposed was a price, and random black lines of different sizes arranged in a little white box below it.

He had been lucky that he mother had not taken a closer look, for then it would have been obvious that this was indeed a muggle book, and not wizard-bound.

Draco grabbed the pumpkin juice on the tray and sipped from the glass as he flipped through the pages. Then he went back to the prologue, which was titled "Shade of Fear". He began to read:

_Wind howled through the night, carrying a scent that would change the world…_

**~YIC~**

Draco climbed into bed that night with Eragon in his hand. He found himself entranced by the book, and had read it virtually the entire day. He was about half-way through it, stopping only when his mother screamed at him to "put the damn book down and talk to her before she went mad".

He had pulled on green silk pajamas and brushed his teeth a few minutes prior to getting into bed, and he collapsed onto the silk sheets with Eragon's pages stretched out before him.

…_A moment later, Brom rolled out of bed with a grumble. He doused his head in cold water from the basin, then left the room. Eragon followed him into the hallway. "Where are you going?" he asked. _

"_To recover."_

"_I'll come." At the bar, Eragon discovered the Brom's method of recovery involved imbibing copious amounts of hot tea and ice water and washing it all down with brandy. When they returned to the room, Eragon was able to function somewhat better…._

Draco found Paolini's writing style a bit drawn out and complicated, but the story was excellent and kept him reading easily. The language was a bit hard to understand, as well, but he figured most of the words he couldn't understand were muggle terms.

He was pretty that the book did not take place in present day; probably many centuries before this date. Muggles, apparently, had a very poor understanding of dragons, since Paolini only refers to them as one species, instead of the dozens that inhabited the wizarding world.

But that didn't bother Draco as much as it would have. He found that he was enjoying the book very much, and it was past eleven o'clock before he finally put it down. But by then it was finished, and he was pulling out the book mark and setting them on the night table.

**~YIC~**

"Finished already?" Narcissa said when Draco came down to the parlor the next morning without the book.

"Yes. Spent half the night reading it," he said as he sat down.

"We still have the bird, what was her name?"

"Artemis," he replied, even surprising himself that he still remembered.

"I think it would be nice to send Miss. M a nice thank you note back with Artemis, don't you think?"

"Since when to Malfoys send thank you notes?" he asked, suddenly irate at the thought. Draco Malfoy doesn't send _thank you_ notes.

"Don't use that tone with me, please, Draco," Narcissa said. "Now go get your breakfast and write that note! Artemis will be in the west wing, with Alaric, Uther and Hortensia in the owlery."

"Fine, mother," Draco sulked.

He went to the kitchen where the house elves were bustling around with trays perched on their shoulders or lugging pails of water across the floor. He found his breakfast on the counter once again. "Good morning Mr. Malfoy," Trinkie said to him as she passed by with a basket of rolls. "Is master taking that up to your room sir?"

"Yes, Trinkie," he replied.

"Trinkie will send Zoe up to retrieve the tray, sir, when sir is finished."

"Thank you, Trinkie," he said, taking the tray in both hands and turning out of the kitchen.

When Draco arrived in his room he set the tray down on his writing desk, a large, dark thing that sat imposingly in the corner of his room, across from the bed. He took a bit of the sausage and took out a quill, inkwell, and piece of parchment with the Malfoy seal on it. After a few minutes of thinking and picking off his tray, he began to write.

_Dear M,_

_I have a few questions for you. One; who the hell are you? And why are you sending me muggle books for my birthday? Do you realize how much trouble I could have been in for that? Also, I highly doubt anyone else in Hogwarts remembered what date Pansy Parkinson was screaming at me about, so why have you? Doesn't this seem in anyway stalker-ish to you? But… thank you. It was a good book. Paolini has an interesting imagination._

_Yours truly,_

_Draco_

He didn't really expect her to reply, seeing as the main function of this note was to express thanks and not to ask her a million questions, but he figured he might as well stick them in.

Draco folded it up and tucked it into an envelope, embossed with the Malfoy seal, and headed over to the owlery. The Malfoy family owned three owls; Hortensia was his eagle owl for Hogwarts, and Alaric was a Great Gray owl and the family owl. At times his father would use Hortensia's mate, an owl named Uther, for his work at the ministry and passing on legal documents.

The Malfoy family owlery was nothing compared to the Hogwarts one, in terms of size, but this one was much cleaner and the owl treats were better. On his way in Draco picked up a few of the treats from a bowl that sat in the doorway.

All of the owls were sleeping except for Artemis, who was standing on a pile of straw in a little alcove opposite the window. She was standing, constantly shifting her weight and looking around nervously.

_What a beautiful bird, _Draco thought to himself as he approached her. She was no match for Hortensia, who was regal and powerful as well as beautiful, but this bird had a simple, pure, child-like beauty that seemed to lighten up the room, strange as it sounded.

"Hullo," he said softly as he approached her. She had seemed friendly enough when she had first arrived at the manor but you could never tell with birds sometimes.

She turned to face him, and her head cocked, just like a human's would. Draco couldn't help but chuckle to himself.

"I've got something for you." He dug into his pocket and brought out the treats, which she made a dash for and was swallowing before Draco ever had a chance to think. He laughed a little again. "Quick, feisty little thing, aren't we?

"This is for you, too," he said, pulling out the envelope from under his cloak. "Deliver it for me, will you?"

The barn owl's head bobbed, as if she were nodding, and Draco smiled. He tied the envelope to the bird's leg and held out his arm for her to jump on.

"There we are," he said, and carrying her to the windowsill. She stepped down, and gave him a friendly peck on the hand. She turned back to the window and took off with the sun at her back, and Draco was plunged into a memory long-since forgotten.

_Flashback_

"_Hey Granger!"_

"_What do you want, Malfoy?" she spat back at him. They were in the hallway, both of them on their way to Arithmancy, and Draco couldn't help but bother her seeing as her two sidekicks were nowhere in sight. "I'm not in the mood for this right now."_

"_I just wanted to ask, what did that poor beaver ever to do you that you hate to rip off his teeth for your own?"_

"_Haha, really witty Malfoy," she replied sardonically. "And if you haven't noticed, they are completely _normal _now since the Yule Ball, and you know it, considering the look you gave me that night."_

"_What do you take me for?" he had replied. "A blood-traitor, like Weasley?"_

"_Shut up, Malfoy!" she screamed over her shoulder. _

"_What? I'm just stating the facts."_

"_They aren't facts, you nitwit, their prejudiced lies you tell yourself before you go to bed to make you feel better about yourself!" she retorted. _

"_Like h—" he began, but stopped, because the pair were now crossing the courtyard and the spring sunlight was coming down like a halo on Granger's hair, which didn't seem so bushy anymore, and all the most exotic browns and golds and reds in the world were dancing on her head in the most enchanting way…_

_But then it was done, because she had crossed the courtyard and back in the shadows of the school, leaving him standing there wearing the stupidest of looks on his face and feeling like the biggest fool in the world._

_End Flashback_

And there he was again, standing with a stupid expression on his face and feeling positively ridiculous.

What if the book was from Granger? She had said that she did not include her name because she thought it would scare him off. And who else would send him a _book, _much less a _muggle _book for his birthday?

_But the girl's initial is M, _he thought to himself. _And why would Granger want to send me a birthday present? The nicest thing she's ever done to me is ignore me._

So he quickly banished the thought out of his head and made his way back to his room.

**~YIC~**

Then another strange thing happened that week. M wrote back.

* * *

**A/N:**

Oh, look, another story! I don't know how fast I'll be updating this one, though, because this alone took me, what, a week to just _write_, and I had Thanksgiving break to work on it. I decided to write this one after I heard the song "Stories" from Belle's Enchanted Christmas the other day when my family watched it. I just thought it would be a cute idea. Hey, did you know this is the second-longest chapter I've ever written, including my one-shot? It's almost four thousand, I believe. *And yes, I DO in fact know that Draco Malfoy's birthday is JUNE 5th, but to make this work, I've moved it to July.

So, yeah, I hope you guys liked it! Please drop a review; I love to see what you guys have to say!

Oh, and all of the quotes from Eragon DO NOT belong to me, obviously if they are quotes, they belong to Christopher Paolini, and if you haven't read the Inheritance Cycle please do ^_^

~Weaver


	2. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

**2. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, C.S. Lewis**

"And Lucy got the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and realize that it is the beginning of the holidays or the beginning of summer."

July 8th

The sun was casting its gentle, golden rays across the parlor at Malfoy Manor, making the room look as if it had taken a bath in the shimmering light. Three days had passed since Draco Malfoy had gotten one of the most curious birthday presents he had ever received; a book, written by a muggle. Narcissa Malfoy, his mother, was sitting in the parlor room, having a simple breakfast. She was thinking very hard about the Mysterious M, who had thought to give her son a birthday present, even though she had assured him that using her real name would stop him from opening it at all.

In her head she was rehearsing a talk with her son that she hoped would come about very soon.

"_You know, dear, you are getting a bit old now… going to be of age in a few years… Maybe it's best to start looking for a proper wife… You see… I was thinking… if M isn't a half-blood or something ridiculous like that, I think she would be a nice replacement for the Parkinson girl… assuming you wouldn't want to marry Pansy, of course… but it's completely up to you, just consider it, won't you dear?"_

She was even considering telling Draco to write another letter to M, prompting her to start a nice correspondence that would grow to something Narcissa could work with in the matrimony region.

But her simple, quiet breakfast filled with marriage-ridden thoughts wouldn't last very long. She had just started on her toast when a nice _rat-ta-ta-tat _could be heard, coming from the direction of the large, almost floor-to-ceiling window on one side of the room.

Narcissa turned towards the sound, and was promptly met with the image of the Mysterious M's bird, Artemis, tapping on the window sill. From her spot on the couch she could see that just a solitary letter was tied to the bird's leg.

"Artemis!" she exclaimed, setting her plate of toast down on the tray and walking very quickly to the window sill. _Yes, this is going very nicely, _Narcissa thought to herself. _I like a girl who will take matters into her own hands._

Draco, who had been working on a Potion's essay, ran from the study three doors down to see what the screeching was about. He found his mother standing at the sill, looking through the glass and studying the bird with a mixture of delight and interest.

She looked up when he entered the room, eyebrows collecting towards the center of her forehead. "This is strange," she said, beckoning him over. "Did you expect M to write back?" Not that she was objecting, of course.

"Not at all, mother," Draco said, his own pale eyebrows mimicking Narcissa's. "Are you sure that's Artemis?"

"Well of course it is! Have a good look at it, won't you Draco? There are very few birds like her," she replied, poking the glass with her index finger repeatedly. Artemis seemed to look indignant for a moment, and pulled her head back to avoid the silly woman who was stabbing at the window between them.

Draco looked closer. "I'm not sure, mother."

"Look _closer,_" Narcissa demanded, grabbing the back of her son's head and thrusting it closer to the window. Draco wrenched out of her grip and shook his head furiously.

"Yes, yes, alright, I see it. But what did the bird bring with her?"

"It's just a letter this time."

"Odd," was all Draco could reply with.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Draco?" Narcissa demanded. "Open the window for the animal!"

Draoc did as he was told, muttering about the fact that his mother was closer to the window by many inches along the way. Artemis hopped into the house, head bobbing side to side as if to say "Well, took you long enough." She jumped onto Draco's arm, and to his utter surprise, rubbed her head against his arm before holding out her foot. Narcissia muttered a quick charm to cut the string tying the letter to her foot, and it fell into Draco's hand. It was a simple envelope, nothing too extravagant or expensive and sealed with wax but no seal.

"Open it then, dear," she prodded. "Go on."

"What happened to seeing if it was cursed?" Draco asked, giving his mother a look and raising an eyebrow as he made his way back to the sofa.

"It doesn't matter now dear, does it? Now that we know that M isn't really dangerous," Narcissa replied, following her son.

"Sure, mother," he replied, rolling his eyes and settling down on the couch. Mrs. Malfoy settled down on the seat across from him, hands on her knees and looking expectant. Artemis had flown off his arm and landed on the coffee table.

He tossed the envelope once in the air, testing for weight, and found that it wasn't very heavy at all. Maybe just one piece of parchment?

He ripped open the seal and found just what he had predicted, and though it was very long and had to be folded into thirds, only a fourth of the parchment had been written on.

"Read it aloud again, if you please, Draco," Narcissa said. So he did.

_Dear Draco,_

_ First of all, I am not a stalker; I merely have a good memory. And it's sort of hard _not _to hear Pansy Parkinson when she lets loose a loud one. As to who I am, maybe you'll figure it out some day.__  
Secondly, I am glad that you liked the book so much. I have a whole shelf of double copies of books that I already own, all of the classics, and some of the newer ones. I can give you some of them, if you'd like. What do you say? They'd all be muggle books, of course, so I hope that fact doesn't bother you too much. Oh, and I'm sorry that I almost put you in that much trouble. But what's life without a little danger every once in a while?_

_Answer back quickly; I've already picked out a book for you!  
__Yours truly,  
__-M_

He, of course, excluded that last couple sentences about the books being muggle-written and looked up.

"This girl must really like you, Draco, to be offering you an entire shelf-full of books," Narcissa said with a cheeky smile. "Now that you've read another letter, have you any ideas to who this charming young lady might be?"

For a fraction of a millisecond Draco considered telling her his theory of Hermione Granger, but quickly decided against it, knowing that his mother would stop all communication if he thought at _all _that it might be her.

"I have no earthly idea, mother," he lied smoothly.

"Well go upstairs and write back, Draco," she said. "Oh, and lunch will be on in two hours."

"Alright then, mother," he replied, taking the letter and bringing it back up to his room.

Narcissa smiled to herself as she watched her son step out of the room, bringing her cup of tea up to her lips.

She wouldn't realize the cost of playing matchmaker until much, _much_ later.

**~YIC~**

Draco entered his room feeling a mix of things. For one, curiosity. For another, excitement. And for a last one, confusion. But he would have time to sort those feelings out later.

The Slytherin sat down at his desk like he had three days prior. He pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill and got to work.

_Dear M,_

_ You are definitely right about Pansy's scream.  
__ Thank you for the offer; it was very much appreciated by me _and _my mother (Merlin help me). Not this time, but the next time (if you think that there will be a next time) would you mind sending your owl to my bedroom and not the living room? The fewer books my mother sees that don't look like wizardings ones, the better. Oh, and one question: My mother and I both thought that you might be a girl; are you? If you aren't… erm… no offense intended._

_Anticipating a new book,  
__Draco_

_Short, sweet, and to the point, _Draco thought as he put his quill back into the well.

Now that he was finished, he could sort through those feelings that were running laps around his brain a few minutes before.

The first to deal with, was, of course, curiosity.

As much as he hated to admit it, there were two things that were prodding him to continue writing to the mysterious M. One: The books. He was very curious as to what kind of books M was going to send to him, muggle-written or not. Two: He was also very curious about M. Who was she, and why did she care so much to give him books? He thought that maybe, if they continued their correspondence long enough, he might be able to figure out who she was, or she might even straight-out tell him.

The second was excitement. Why was he feeling excitement? He was going to get muggle books (books written by muggles, just to clarify) by a complete stranger who he seems to hate, though he doesn't know who she is. Why should he be excited?

Draco came up with two reasons, again, why he felt so excited. One: The danger of slipping muggle books right under his mother's nose, he found, was very exciting and worth the suspense to see how long he could trick her. Now, even though Draco loved his mother very much and would've never asked for a different one, everyone likes to play tricks on their parents, just to see if he or she is clever enough to pull a fast one on those who had given them life. Two: Someone had actually cared to give him a birthday gift that wasn't ridiculously extravagant or tacky. It was just perfect, and it felt like that person knew what they were doing as they picked. It made him feel, well, cared about, and as much as he would deny it to any student at Hogwarts, or to anyone, for that matter, Draco liked feeling cared about just as much as the next person.

Now, the final: confusion. And that, he supposed, was the most important emotion of all.

Why was M sending him birthday gifts to him if she hated him? And who in Merlin's name _was _she, anyway? Draco couldn't remember any girl from Hogwarts that had a name that started with an M that hated him. Most of the girls that hated him did so because wither A: they were half-blood, muggle-born, or just plain-stupid so he had made fun of them, or B: because he had locked lips with them and then dumped them unceremoniously.

There was always the possibility that it _was _Granger, and she was just using M as a cover-up. It did make sense in a way, because if Draco had come up with the Granger-theory before he had opened the first gift, he would've no doubt avoided opening it. Also, Granger was the only person who'd he'd think to give him a _book _for a gift, much less a muggle one. But then he'd think back to 3rd year, when she had slapped him across the face with a look in her eyes that he would never forget. It was a mix of hatred, anger, and disgust, and he would never say _this _to any one, either, but he had been terrified and transfixed at it at the same time.

Draco shook his head vigorously after this last thought, wishing it had never come up, and tried to focus more on action, rather than his own thoughts and feelings.

So he put the letter in an envelope and sealed it with the Malfoy crest, and then went back to the living room where his mother was still sitting. But instead of eating breakfast, she was reading a book.

"That took a bit long for just one little note," Narcissa said, not even looking up from the book's very dusty, very yellow pages.

Draco walked up to Artemis, who was still perched on the coffee table. "I got… distracted." He fit the letter in the owl's beak.

"With what?"

"Just… nothing, really," Draco said indecisively as he carried the bird to the window sill. She nudged the window pane open and flew out.

"That's really very vague, dear," Narcissa commented absent-mindedly. "Mind explaining?"

Draco hesitated. "I was trying to figure out who M was." Which was true, really; he just wasn't telling his mother _everything _that had been going through his mind. Which wasn't really lying at all.

"Any luck?"

"No," he replied.

"Alright then, dear, now you're free to do whatever until lunch." Narcissa said pleasantly.

Draco nodded and left the room, heading towards the back door that led out to the garden. Propped against the wall right next to the door was his broom, the Nimbus Two-thousand-and-one. When it came to brooms, Draco had just sort of given up after Potter had gotten his Firebolt. And besides; the broom had served him faithfully for three years, and he had become sort of attached to it. He could never beat Potter on it, (not that he would be admitting _that, _either; he was just full of public denial scenarios today) he knew, not with that Firebolt, but he could still fly brilliantly on it, anyway.

He picked up the Nimbus and heaved it over his shoulder, opening the door and stepping out into the summer air.

Draco found it very calming to just hop on his broom and zoom around the gardens, thinking of nothing in particular or maybe about something that was really bothering him. Like when they first heard that his father was in jail. Draco zoomed around the garden, trying to concentrate only on going as fast as he possibly could, and not on the fact that his father was incarcerated in one of the foulest places on earth.

But now, right this second, he was ready to forget all of that for now and just enjoy flying. After all, it was his favorite thing to do in the world.

**~YIC~**

Nothing very exciting was going on in the Malfoy house for the next few days. Draco found that he had finished all of his Hogwarts homework quite earlier than he thought he would. That was probably because that was all he did throughout the day, besides read for maybe an hour a day and ride his broomstick for a bit longer than that. For the quite a while, Draco thought that M would never reply at all, which was strange because M had told him to reply quick and that she had already picked out a title for him.

On the third day since he had sent his reply to M, he was almost worried; almost being the keyword. Malfoys don't worry about anyone else but them, and their families.

On the fourth day, July 12th, Draco hadn't expected a reply to come very soon, since the time before M had replied in two days.

On the fifth, he began to lose hope that she would ever reply at all. Narcissa, who had been fairly bright during the summer despite their difficult time with the Ministry, had her mood dampened, if slightly, by the prospect of her son never getting any further in his communication with M.

"Maybe you should write again, Draco," she said to him quietly in the afternoon of the fifth day.

Her son just shook her head. "She's obviously lost interest in me."

**~YIC~**

Draco was wrong, of course. M had _not _in fact lost interest in him; she merely had a lot more on her mind, I would guess. That was a busy summer for her and her friends.

So on the sixth day, while Narcissa was drinking her tea during her breakfast, she heard, once again, the tapping noise on the window. She turned around and nearly shrieked with delight. She would have, if Malfoys shrieked. She settled, instead, for a soft smile of anticipation.

"Draco!" she sang. "Something's here for you!"

Draco was currently in his room, and as soon as he heard his mother's announcement, he stood up from his desk very slowly, walked across his movement sluggishly, and tried as hard as he could to try and act like he didn't care at all.

"Draco, dear, if you don't get this package right now I'm going to make _sure _I don't have any grandchildren!" Narcissa called in a shrill, sing-song voice.

He began to hurry forward, almost slamming the door behind him as his went. Inwardly, Draco was just excited that he now had an excuse to go faster.

The Slytherin hurried down the stairs, trying to take them three at a time without killing himself, and arrived at the doorway of the parlor room practically devouring the air.

"Thank you, dear," Narcissa said with a sickly-sweet grin. "Artemis is on the sill."

Draco walked over and opened the pane mechanically; it was sort of becoming routine. Artemis hopped on his arm and blinked at him affectionately; or, at least, that's what Draco thought it looked like. He exhaled as he shook his head furiously. He was being delusional.

"_Open it, then!_" Narcissa hissed, unbeknownst to her son picturing a wedding in white and silver, with a faceless bride, very beautiful, of course, with her son leaning in…

"I _am!_" Draco replied, hurriedly pulled the string typing the parcel (Because it _was _a parcel this time, not a letter). Artemis quickly flew over to the coffee table and began waiting patiently for the two humans before him to finish their business and show her to where the treats were.

"Read the note first, Draco," Narcissa reminded her son before he ripped into the package.

He set down the little parcel on the coffee table and pulled out the envelope. It was attached to the package with a strip of clear material that was sticky on one side but not the other. The Slytherin ripped open the envelope and pulled out a piece of parchment.

_Dear Draco,_

_ Alright, I'll start off my saying _yes_, I do happen to be a girl. What does that have to do with anything, anyway?  
__ Now that we've got that all cleared up… Here's the next book! It's an old favorite of mine; I'm sure you'll see why. If you just tell me which window is yours, I can make sure Artemis gets to that one and not wherever she's dropping it off now. Enjoy, and please write back very quickly!_

_Yours in correspondence,  
__-M  
__P.S. I apologize for the terrible wait; I've had one hell of a week, pardon my language._

Again, when he read it aloud to his mother, he omitted all the parts that he didn't want Narcissa to hear. When he looked up again, she was grinning at him.

"Well, open the parcel then! What book did she pick?"

Draco ripped open the paper around the book, which seemed very small this time, trying to keep his hands from trembling with excitement. He really tried to look nonchalant about it, but it really was very hard.

It was another book, of course, with the title _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, _and the author was in fact a man (he was assuming it was a man) by the name of C. S. Lewis; one he had never heard of before. On the cover there was the image of what he guessed to be a satyr on it, standing in the snow with a white umbrella, a parcel, and a red scarf.

"Another half-blood?" Narcissa asked as Draco handed her the book. She lifted an eyebrow.

"Er—yes," Draco replied, trying not to look nervous.

Narcissa sighed. "You know, your father would never have let you read this," she said.

"I know."

"And if—_when _you're father returns, you can't keep these books in the library."

"Of course, mother," he replied.

She sighed again. "Go and read it then. But don't spend the whole day reading again, please; go outside and ride on your Nimby—"

"Nimbus, mother."

"Nimbus, then… for a while and get some fresh air."

**~YIC~**

It did not take very long for Draco to go through this one, either, though he spent less time reading it than he did Eragon.

_The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe _was a beautifully written book, with wonderful imagery and really thought-out characters. But as he read it, he thought to himself, _There are Susan's, Lucy's, Edmund's, Peter's, and White Witches everywhere. _And then, sitting at his desk a few minutes later, he took out a piece of parchment and split it into five columns, each titled with one of those five characters from the book.

Most of the Slytherins were Edmunds, Draco found as he wrote his list; good people, deep down inside, he supposed, but really rotten on the outside (well, more like deep _deep deep _down inside, for most). He'd like to imagine Weasley as the White Witch, just to have a laugh, but knew he was probably more like Peter. Potter was, too, always acting like he knew best and playing the role of rooster to his chicks, or however you want to put it.

All the Gryffindor girls were a cross between Edmund and Susan, he thought, petty at times and only caring of themselves at others, but really quite brave and determined when they needed to be. Except for Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger, of course. Ginny Weasley, he thought, reminded him of a cross between Susan and Lucy. She was a right little spitfire at times, like Susan could be, and very commanding (again like Susan), but she had a pure goodwill and curiosity that only Lucy seemed to have of the bunch.

Draco would've liked to peg Granger as a Susan, obviously, what with being a bit snooty and bossy, but really, if he was ready to accept it, she was more like Lucy, what with her gentleness with those struggling with themselves, and hunger to do the right thing. So very slowly, almost grudgingly, he wrote her down as a Lucy.

In the school, there really weren't any White Witches, the closest being Umbridge, of course. The column was kept empty for a long while until Draco had a strange, terrifying thought; Voldemort was the Witch. With a trembling hand, he took his quill, and under _Umbridge, _he wrote the Dark Lord's name.

Despite what his father told him, Draco squeezed in a new column at the end and wrote _Aslan _at the top, and _Dumbledore _underneath it. Yes, that was inevitable.

**~YIC~**

The next morning Draco still had a chapter or two left of the book, so before he went down to breakfast he finished it up, not feeling quite satisfied about the ending. He didn't think it was very fair that, after all those years serving as Kings and Queens of Narnia, they would end up back at the Professor's house, with only their memories to remind them of their reign. But nonetheless, he enjoyed it whole-heartedly. Muggles may have had many misconceptions of how magic really worked, but they had stunning imaginations and a good way of writing them out.

Draco climbed out of bed and walked across the room to his writing desk and pulled out one of the drawers. It was completely empty except for one book; Eragon. He carefully set the _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe _on top of it, closed the drawer, and sat down at the desk.

The blonde took out a piece of parchment and a quill, dipped it in his inkwell, and began to write again.

_Dear M,_

_ I enjoyed this title very much, and I am glad that you sent it to me. Just a question; do you think you would've done as Edmund did, and betray your family and whatnot to the White Witch, if she promised _you _something that you really wanted? I'm not meaning something silly like desserts and hot chocolate, but something you would really value. Just a question; feel free not to answer it. __And why did I ask you if you were a girl? Because I was curious. I probably shouldn't have read that part aloud to my mother; knowing her, she's probably already hearing wedding bells or something ridiculous like that. (Praying that last bit doesn't scare you away)  
__ Another thing: who says "Yours in correspondence" anymore?_

_-Draco  
__P.S. I live on the east side of the manor, three windows across from the left and three up from the bottom. Does that help?_

Draco folded the piece of parchment into thirds, stuck it in an envelope, and sealed it with the Malfoy crest. Then he headed downstairs, where his mother was starting breakfast without him, as per usual.

"Did you finish it overnight again, Draco?" she asked.

"No, I actually finished it this morning," he replied. "Exercising my power of self-control."

"Good," Narcissa said. "After breakfast, write a note back to M, would you?"

"I already did," said Draco, holding up the envelope up for his mother to see.

"Well then sit down next to me and have your breakfast; you can go back to Artemis in the Owlery afterwards."

**~YIC~**

The next morning Narcissa Malfoy was in the parlor again, sipping her tea and humming softly. Presently, she was wondering whether it was worth the money to get extra snacks from Honeydukes after the wedding dinner or not, and was just about to come to a decision when here was a little tap from the window pane again. Her breath hitched in her throat with excitement. This was going exactly as she had hoped.

"Draco! There's something here for you again!" she called towards the direction of the stairs.

She set her cup on the tray, stood up, and faced the window, only to see that the tapping sound was being made by a bird who was definitely _not _Artemis.

It was a Great Grey, looking imposing and fierce on her windowsill, with just a little scrap of parchment in its beak.

"Oh, my," she whispered, recognizing the owl at once.

Narcissa ran to the window and opened the pane, letting the Great Grey hop through. She took the parchment from its beak. It was folded in half, then in half again.

Mrs. Malfoy opened it slowly, dreading what she was about to read. But when her eyes scanned the page, she wasn't sure whether to feel relieved, overjoyed, scared, or nervous.

"So fast mother? I'd think it would've taken a few—" Draco froze as he entered the room, catching the conflicted look on his mother's face as she stared at the piece of parchment

"Mother, what is it?"

"It's Snape," she said. "He's sent me a letter." She looked up, eyes wide. "He's going to break them all out of Azkaban."

It did not need saying that "he" did not refer to Snape; it referred to Lord Voldemort.

* * *

**A/N:**

I am so _very _sorry to you guys, for keeping you waiting for more than an entire month! Nearly everyone asked for a quick update, and that's exactly what I _didn't _do.

It took me a while to get into the swing of this chapter, and I found myself going back to check things many times and go through their letter again and again. But thank you for coming back, even though I'm sure you guys had almost forgotten this story.

One question; I am not very happy with the summary of this story. Do you guys like it? Do you have another one you could suggest? If so, that would be great!

Thank you to my lovely reviewers: Nicole0LiveLaughLove0, Ignorance-Your New Best Friend, LadyBookworm80, winsome wonder, ncislover1111, and the anonymous Shara.

Please leave a review, and I'll try to have the next chapter up much sooner than the last!

~Weaver


	3. The Hobbit

**3. The Hobbit, J R R Tolkien**

"It was a turning point in his career, but he did not know it."**  
**

July 16th

There weren't many times when Draco Malfoy was lost for words. It very seldom happened, because Draco liked to always have some sort of witty comeback up his sleeve, especially when he was dealing with Weasley or someone along those lines. And even though sometimes they weren't the best of retorts, they were still something, and preferable compared to just a dumb silence that would make him feel as if he wasn't intelligent enough to come up with a clever reply.

But this was one of those rare times, and Draco was well aware of how strange the silence felt to him, bearing down on his brain and giving him a hard time thinking of something to say. Isn't it funny how when you need the words the most, they purposely hide in the corner of your brain, refusing to com out?

So he just stood there, frozen, staring at his mother with a look that was in between surprise and fear. "Let me see that, please," he finally managed to get out of his mouth, though it sounded hoarse and weak. Narcissa handed him the note, barely seeming to notice her son's sudden voice change. She seemed deep in thought. Draco scanned it quickly, then again, and then once more, to make sure that he had read everything right.

_Narcissa and Draco,_

_He told me that I should tell you what he plans to do in a week's time. He wants you to know that he and the others that haven't gotten thrown into Azkaban (your sister, Narcissa, for one) are going to get them out and round up the dementors in one go. But in return he has asked—more like ordered—housing at Malfoy Manor. A refusal is not in the question, you two. The Dark Lord assures that nothing will go wrong. _

_Stay safe.  
__-the Half-Blood Prince_

"What the hell is the 'Half-Blood Prince'?" Draco asked as if the rest of the information in the letter meant nothing to him. But really, that was all he could think of saying at the moment. "Some sort of code name?" _What a stupid question, _the blonde chided himself. _I really hate when I draw a blank._

"Sort of," his mother replied, apparently oblivious to both her son's sudden stupidity or his frustration with it. "But Draco, the Dark Lord… he's to be coming here. To our house. He'll _live _here."

Draco shivered at the thought of having that… that… monstrosity _sleep _in the same building as he. Then he quickly banished the thought from his brain, pushing as far away from his conscious mind as possible. Even the simplest of thoughts were dangerous when you had a master so skilled in the art of Legilimency.

"There's no way to prevent it, Snape said?" he then asked; almost pleaded.

"No, he was quite clear about that, Draco," she replied, whipped the letter out of her son's hands, as if annoyed at his reaction. "But think… your father; he'll be out. He'll be out of Azkaban, and back… back home…"

And Narcissa, who had been quite composed for the past few weeks and had even smiled and laughed while they had gotten the last few letters, seemed on the verge of tears at that moment, as if she wouldn't be able to hold herself together any longer.

"He'll be back…" she whispered, and then turned to her son.

"Aren't you happy, Draco?" Narcissa demanded, for it seemed as if Draco was taking this information in at the same speed as his mother. But while she was on the brink of joyous, relieved tears, Draco was silent and contemplative.

It would be strange to have his father back, he decided, after living in such peace without him. For one, Draco wouldn't have Lucius breathing down his back every minute of every day, barking orders on how to do things, and when to do things, and what not to do, and why he was doing it wrong. For another, his mother seemed to idolize his father, but he didn't, of course. There was no doubt in his mind of his father's brilliance, but Draco wasn't blind. He could tell that most arguments at Malfoy manor started with something that Lucius had said, either about the Death Eaters, or something elitist, and Narcissa had asked him to stop, and Lucius had refused to. That, or it was about how to spend the money. Though it seemed a sort of pathetic reason to be even the least bit happy about his father's absence, Narcissa Malfoy now had cart blanche, almost, of their family's money, and she could choose what to and what not to spend it on.

But whatever difficulties his mother and father were having between themselves, Narcissa Malfoy never ceased to almost worship the ground on her husband's feet. The level of her devotion to her spouse was almost disturbing, and it made Draco's palm's tingle with apprehension every time he thought about it.

"Draco?" Narcissa said again, as it appeared that the blonde had left the question hanging in between them for longer than expected.

"Yeah, Mum, it's going to be great to have him back," Draco said quickly, as if making up for some blunder. "Excuse me," he said after another second or two, "but I'll be in my room."

"Yes, alright, Draco, I'll be down here, with the house elves, preparing for your father's arrival," Narcissa said.

He climbed up the stairs to his room and pulled out a quill and a piece of parchment. The Slytherin had to write all of this down, get all of his ideas out onto paper, because he thought if he kept it all in his head, it might explode.

_My father's going to get out of Azkaban, _he wrote, furiously fast. _He's going to get out of Azkaban, and I don't' know how I'm supposed to feel about that. Is it wrong, what he's been doing? Is it right? Is it worth it? What if everything goes wrong and he's stuck in Akzaban for another eternity? And would I feel a shred of happiness at that? Should I feel guilty if I think I would? And the Dark Lord; he's coming. He's going to stay. What a revolting thought! But how am I supposed to keep anything secret from him anymore? What if he asks to search my mind for some random reason? Am I supposed to be able to try and keep things away from him? _Another thought suddenly came to him.

_And is he going to be able to find out about M that way? How terrible that would be… for me, mostly, because he has no idea who M is. And I would probably get into loads of trouble, because M is obviously not really on our side, if she's reading muggle books, which obviously shows she hasn't got any "good, Death eater, pureblood pride". Would he be able to find her? I don't really want that to happen, though…_

Draco put his quill down and rubbed at his temples, trying to fend off the oncoming headache that he could feel creeping around his skull, poised to attack. He really wished that a note from M would come and take his mind off things.

_When did Snape say that they were coming back?_

Oh, yes, in a week's time. M should have sent him something by then. And after that, he'd just have to ask her to stop sending letters to him.

_Might as well not risk it, _Draco thought to himself, still hunched over his desk though he wasn't writing anything anymore. _Better not launch myself out the window when there's a perfectly good door on the other side of the room. _

But he really didn't want to give up M and her sincere, _real _letters and good books. Even though he had only read two so far. But that didn't take away from the fact that her letters felt more genuine than Pansy's whining, simpering, annoying ones that were filled with false compliments and often sprayed with perfume and tied with pink ribbon.

And though they hadn't been talking very long, Draco could feel things about her that he could never sense from a girl before, even one that he had known for a decade and talked to almost every day.

For example, he could tell that she had a nice sense of humor. Even though the letters didn't show it very much, just by the way that she wrote, Draco could tell that M could crack a few nice jokes. And she was pretty intelligent.

_I mean, it's not often that you see a teenager sign their letters with _yours in correspondence, Draco thought. And sometimes, the way she wrote had a sort of haughty air to it, as if she were used to being right.

And, of course, she had to be kind, to not like him very much and yet still extend a hand and give him a birthday present. _I wouldn't do that in a million years, _Draco said to himself honestly.

**~YIC~**

For the next two days, Narcissa Malfoy decided that Malfoy Manor needed another cleaning, even though she strove to keep the place spotless every single minute of every single day.

So she sent all of the house elves into a cleaning frenzy, making sure that they dusted all of candelabras and chandeliers (even though most of them were dazzlingly shiny anyway), rubbed down the stove and all the other metallic surfaces in the kitchen, replaced all the wood in the fireplaces (all twenty seven of them), cleaned all the sheets, and then cleaned them again, and every other Godforsaken chore that had ever been invented to make one's house pretty.

For the most part, Draco stayed hidden in his room, scribbling on scrap pieces of parchment, trying to come up with a suitable reply for M that she could read and not be offended about. He was either doing that or he was outside, riding his broom around the garden, the latter being the less likely of the two.

It was on July 19th, three days after Snape had sent them the letter, when Artemis appeared at Draco's window. At that point in time, Draco had not been in his room; it had been one of those moments that he hadn't locked himself inside to write and think, and when he returned some twenty minutes later the barn owl had decided to make itself at home on his windowsill.

"Artemis!" Draco said, almost dropping his broom. He carefully placed it against his desk and hurried over to the sill. When he opened it the bird jumped onto his arm, as usual, and nipped his arm sharply with her beak, as if reprimanding him for not getting there faster.

The blonde laughed. "Alright, alright, come here, you silly owl," he said, carrying her over to the desk. She let out a deep hoot, and Draco was quick to shush her.

"My mother can't know that you're here," he whispered conspiratorially. "So you've got to keep quiet, okay Artemis?"

For the shortest of moments Draco thought that the bird had nodded her head.

Draco set her on the desk and delicately took the letter and the parcel from her talons. "Thank you, Artemis," he said. "I'll just be a moment, so there's no need to go down to the owlery."

The bird seemed to stare up at him indignantly, as if saying, "But where are my treats?"

"Erm…" Draco rummaged through the drawers of his desk, finally taking out a little package of owl treats. "Hm," he said, "I don't remember how these got here." He shrugged, poured a few into his hand, and gave them to Artemis.

Then he turned his attention back to the parcel and the letter, opening the letter first.

_Draco,_

_ I do hope this gets to you the right way. If not; my sincere apologies. As to your question: No. I would _never_ betray my family or my friends. What a horrible thought. Would _you_?  
__ And no, you're not scaring me away. Actually, you just made my day. I didn't think Narcissa Malfoy would be that interested in your wedding plans that she'd be willing to pair you up with someone that you have no idea of their identity, just like that. I think I scared my mum, though, when I laughed so loudly :) (And if you don't know what that is, turn the parchment ninety degrees)  
__ And for your information, _I _say "yours in correspondence", and if it annoys you so much, I think I may just use it every time I send a letter. What now!_

_ So here the next book; another classic. Hope you enjoy it!  
__YOURS IN CORRESPONDENCE,_

_-M_

Draco chuckled to himself softly. He was going to miss writing to this girl.

He sat down at his desk and took out his quill and parchment, and tried, once again, to write a respectable letter saying he couldn't continue writing anymore.

_Dear M,_

_ I'm sorry about this, but I can't continue to write to you anymore. Thank you for all the books; I'm enjoying reading them. And thanks for a nice start to my summer. You gave me something to look forward to every once in a while.  
__ Again, I'm sorry I've got to stop. But would you do the favor of telling me who you are when we get back to Hogwarts?_

_-Draco_

There. That would have to do it, he decided.

The Slytherin stuck the parchment into an envelope, and looked to his right, where he could've sworn Artemis was before. But the barn owl was gone for the moment, and Draco swiveled around as quickly as he could to see where she would've gone.

She was on his bed, a little scrap of parchment in her beak. Draco's eyes widened as he recognized it.

"No, you stupid owl, you can't have that!" he yelled, dropping his letter to the desk and lunging towards the bird.

Artemis leapt off the bed as soon as he landed on it, sweeping towards the desk while giving a great hoot of outrage.

Draco rounded back on the bird, making another grab for her, but by that time she had already grabbed his letter to M and was flying for the door, seeing as the window pane had been closed.

The blonde cursed at himself profusely as he realized he hadn't closed the door all the way when he first walked in, and Artemis soared through the opening and out into the hall way.

Draco chased after her, realizing where Artemis was heading: the owlery, where the windows were glass-less, and where she could make a clean getaway.

Nevertheless, he chased after her, sprinted as fast as he could up stairs and around corners, nearly killing himself a few times in the process.

He leapt into the owlery just in time to see Artemis taking off from one of the windows, the letter and the piece of parchment trapped in her beak.

"_BLAST!_" Draco roared as she went, running up to the windowsill. From there he let out a long, boisterous string of curses.

When his voice began to hurt, he sank to the floor, ignoring what mess he was landing in, and raked his hands through his hair in frustration, several times.

For you see, if you haven't already suspected, Artemis had taken the parchment on which Draco had scribbled down all his thoughts on after reading Snape's letter; the one describing his situation in annoying detail.

_Mum's going to murder me. Violently. And then dance on my grave._

* * *

**A/N:**

Whoo! It's up in less than a month! But, then again, this chapter is probably the shortest of the three. It was supposed to be a lot longer, but I decided to cut it off here and leave you guys with a bit of a cliffhanger. I don't think any chapter will get any shorter than this, though, I think.

To krazykiki: I didn't get to M's point of view in this chapter, but I'll have a bit of it in the next one ^_^

I've decided to change the title of this story to "Yours in Correspondence". If you disagree, just leave me a review telling me so. But unless I get a majority of objections, the next time you get an alert for this story, it'll be "Yours in Correspondence". Just so you know and don't think, "Hey, I never alerted this story! Wtf?"

A big thank you to all of my brilliant reviewees, favoritiers, and alerters! You guys are too amazing for words.

Yours truly,  
~Weaver


	4. Charlotte's Web

**4. Charlotte's Web, E.B. White**

"…when your stomach is empty and your mind is full, it's always hard to sleep."

July 20th

Many miles away from Malfoy Manor, nestled in a tranquil, little suburb right outside of London, a two-story home was built around seventeen years ago. It was mostly white, with a brown-shingled roof and a red door that stood snugly in between a pair of white pillars that held up the porch roof. On either side were rectangular windows, with more on the second floor. The wall in the front was lined with a neat little row of hedges, and the backyard was ringed with meticulously-cut baby-evergreens that would never grow over ten feet.

There was nothing really special about this house, nothing to suggest that one of its occupants were any different from you or me. The neighbors could tell you one or two stories about a bench getting stuck in a tree nearby, or the neighborhood stray being suddenly "replaced" by a white doe, or even a snowy owl or small, brown one soaring through the air and landing in a tree near the white house. But there were few, like any other neighborhood.

Presently, a Barn Owl that could now be seen quite often near the white house was swooping towards this house, its golden-white back gleaming in the afternoon sun. The window to one room on the top floor was open, and the owl flew in gracefully, landing on the desk that sat underneath.

And sitting on a chair, in front of that desk, was a young woman, with a mane of thick, curly brown hair, pale skin (possibly acquired from hours in an isolated, quiet corner of a library) and bright brown eyes.

"Hello, Artemis," the girl said with a toothy grin. "You're back a bit early, aren't you? Draco rushed to get you out of the house?"

The owl let out a soft hoot as it dropped a slip of parchment from its beak and held out its leg, around which an envelope was tied.

The girl took the envelope for the bird's leg and opened it, while the dropped slip of parchment lay to rest on her carpet, for the moment unnoticed.

She read the letter out loud.

"_Dear M,_

_ I'm sorry about this, but I can't continue to write to you anymore. Thank you for all the books; I'm enjoying reading them. And thanks for a nice start to my summer. You gave me something to look forward to every once in a while. _

_ Again, I'm sorry I've got to stop. But would you do the favor of telling me who you are when we get back to Hogwarts?_

_-Draco"_

M's eye's narrowed as she read it to herself. His letters were never this blunt and stiffly polite. They were conversational, and had once made her laugh, even.

"That's very strange, don't you think?" she asked her bird. "But this just won't do, will it? He must know I won't be giving up on him," she said, tucking the note in the drawer of her desk, nestled beside three others covered with the same crunched, slanted handwriting as the letter she had just received. She would reply to his mysterious letter later.

"Hey, what's this?" she said, taking notice of the piece of parchment her owl, Artemis had dropped.

She picked it up and scanned it slowly to herself, then again, faster, and then again, even faster, her eyes widening with every word.

"Where'd you get this, girl?" she asked her owl. Because surely there was no way that Draco would've sent this to her on his own. Her heart stuttered as she passed over "_Would he be able to find her? I don't really want that to happen, though…" _

_Which is silly, _she thought as she shook the thoughts from her head. _He would not have been writing this if he knew it was me. To him I am M, not… _

Her thoughts trailed off as another thought entered her head. _The Order. _What should she do, then? The Order would find this information useful. She needed to give this note to them.

_But when do I say when they ask me how I got this? Do I tell them that I have been writing to Draco—even gave him a _birthday gift_—since the beginning of the summer? He is the enemy, _M thought bitterly. _I shouldn't have started this at all, _she added. _Now look what I've gotten myself into. _

But there was something about this correspondence with Draco, something that sent adrenaline through her veins every time a new letter came, even though she was sitting down.

This was not meant to happen. The original plan was to send him the gift anonymously. But then he wrote back, and she could not help but write back as well. What spurred that? Was it how sincere he sounded in the letter? The thrill of having a secret correspondence? How she could have a real conversation with him and and no hear him shouting insults at her every five seconds?

_I am officially an idiot__. The biggest bloody moron the wizarding world has ever seen. Brightest witch of her age my arse! The brightest witch of her age wouldn't have gotten her into this miss, _she thought miserably, sitting down and pressing the heels of her hands into her jaw and her palms into her cheeks.

Artemis let out a cheerful hoot, and it was so contrary to her despondent feelings that M couldn't help but reach out a hand to pet her loyal bird.

**~Y****IC~**

There were two more days until Lucius Malfoy would be back in the Malfoy home, and Lord Voldemort would reside in Malfoy Manor. Draco Malfoy was presently lounging against one of the sofas in the living room while his mother bustled about the house, screaming at house elves, testing dishes to be preserved for a dinner in two days' time, ordering another piece of furniture to be scrubbed again or just getting rid of nervous energy by pacing around the manor.

Draco was attempting to look calm and careless, but it was very hard, because of the fact that he had not told his mother about the accident with M yet. And he was not planning to.

The Slytherin had decided the night before that whatever his mother did not know could not possibly hurt her; plus keeping the accident to himself would ensure his safety from a nice hiding. He figured that he was a good enough Occlumency that he could at least keep that little piece of information away from the Dark Lord, if not the letters from M.

For he knew that if the Dark Lord knew about the letters, he would get punished by humiliation or by a more subtle form like a dangerous task. But if the Dark Lord found out about the piece of parchment, then his family would be severely punished with extreme torture or death.

The only thing that kept him sane after yesterday's incident, it seemed, was reading. He finished the Hobbit earlier that day. Reading kept his mind off other matters; something that nothing else—even flying—was able to do now. The book was pretty good, he guessed, though, like the books before it the author had a pretty bad understanding of magic. Then again, they were muggles, so how could they be expected to know anything about magic?

The one thing that really bothered him about the book, though, was Gollum. He was a creepy little character, and if Draco thought about him too much he would end up shuddering and feeling sick to his stomach.

He wondered if Gollum was supposed to be a manifestation of all things wrong with the world. Greed. Secrecy. Pain. Trickery. He could practically hear the little monster's voice in his head… _"My precious… my precious…_"

The blond was jolted out of his thoughts by his mother, of course.

"Draco, if you're not doing anything, could you please help the house elves clear out the cobwebs in the library?" his mother said. "You are much taller than me."

"There aren't any cobwebs up there, mother," Draco reminded her gently. "You just cleared them out two hours ago."

"Haha," Narcissa tittered, flashing a nervous, almost delirious smile. "Haha, quite right dear, I think I may be losing my mind…"

_Wouldn't be the first time, _Draco thought to himself, allowing himself a small smile and ray of light to filter through his deep lake of dubious and annoying thoughts.

**~YIC~**

That night was cold for summer, as if nature itself knew of Draco's blunder. He sat in his bed, the silk not doing anything to keep him warm. That in turn did nothing to help him to sleep, and all night Draco tossed and turned, uncomfortable in body and mind.

_Why they hell didn't I eat dinner tonight? _Draco cursed at himself, feeling an annoying pang in his stomach. He turned from his back to his side, hoping that maybe that the new position would help him to sleep. There was one thing he was grateful for, though. His mother was so distracted by his father's homecoming that she had not paid much attention to him. If she had, she surely would have noticed something was up with Draco. His mother was an annoyingly observant woman.

But no, she was too busy cleaning up the already flawless house to notice his absence of appetite—despite the fact that he was near-starving, Draco just couldn't manage to shove the food down his throat—or how unfocused he had been all day or the distracted tone in his voice that even _he_ had caught onto and had tried to hide in vain.

_Two more days, Draco, _he thought to himself. _Two more days until Father comes home, and the Dark Lord makes Malfoy Manor his—_Draco shuddered—_his home. _

Why the hell did life have to be so damn hard? "Couldn't you make something _easy _for me for once?" Draco whispered furiously to no one in particular, which just made him angrier. There was no one, no one at all, who would listen to him.

_M would've listened, _he found himself thinking. _She probably would have listened to anything I needed to say, and wouldn't have asked any questions. _She just seemed like the kind of girl who did things like that.

_No, bad Draco! _he scolded himself. _Forget her. She's not a part of your life anymore. You ended any contact with her. She's done._

Oh, but how wrong he was.

A tap from the windowsill.

Draco's head snapped up from his pillow, eyes wide. An owl. _Her _owl. Artemis.

"No no no no," Draco whispered to himself repeatedly. _I told her not to reply. I told her I didn't want to talk to her anymore. Oh, you idiot, you didn't say that you didn't want her to reply to that particular note! _After all, when someone says goodbye to you, you always answer goodbye back, don't you?_ Wait—maybe it's not Artemis._

But as he walked slowly towards the window, he could tell this was not true. The barn owl, its speckled-white feathers gleaming in the moonlight, stood at the sill, a package tied to her leg.

_No!__ Damn it _ALL!

Draco receded back to his bed, hoping that maybe if he ignored her, the bird would fly back to her owner and M would give up. Yes, that was the best thing to do.

He climbed under the silk blankets and lay his head down on the pillow. There. Now that blasted bird would see he went back to sleep and leave him be.

But Artemis was a determined owl, as she had shown him before. So she pecked madly at the window, and for a moment Draco thought she would drill a hole through his window.

"Alright, alright, just shut up!" Draco whispered furiously, creeping back up to the windowsill. Artemis was quiet, and Draco took advantage of the moment to check that his mother had not woken up or stirred at all in the next room.

He sighed in relief. Everything was quiet.

He turned back to the sill just in time to see Artemis lean forward to peck at the glass again.

"No!" he said, pulling open the window before her beak could hit the pane. "Come in, then," Draco said nervously, moving off to the side to let Artemis step inside.

She did so cautiously, perhaps sensing the Slytherin's anxiety, and hopped over to his desk with a flutter of wings that Draco was sure would wake his mother.

"Would it kill you to be quiet as you moved?" he said irritably to the bird. Artemis responded with a cheery chirp that was quickly silenced with Draco's palm.

He pulled out the letter and sliced open the envelope.

_Dear Draco,_

_ I am sorry that you feel that way, but I am not one to let things go. I'm glad I've made an impact you and I plan on continuing doing so. Subsequently, don't count on me stopping any letters anytime soon. Eventually I won't need to tell you my name; hopefully you'll figure it out._

_Please enjoy this next book,_

_Yours in Correspondence,_

_-M_

It seemed as if she had only gotten the letter; the scrap of parchment had not made it through. _Artemis must have dropped it on the way to her house, _he thought giddily. He breathed in, and suddenly the air tasted so much sweeter. He would no longer need to worry about M finding that paper!

_But what if she dropped it on some other wizard's head? _Draco thought to himself inevitably.

_Couldn't've just let me feel happy for once? _His other side thought angrily. _I was fine for what, five seconds?_

_It's true. You don't know who has that information now._

Draco shook his head clear of the negative thoughts. This was supposed to be a happy, triumphant moment. And it would be. The information he had written down on the little piece of parchment was gone, now, and it could've very well be at the bottom of some lake instead of another wizard's hands.

Little did he know that it was in neither of these places; of course, it lay across his four letters in M's desk drawer.

He opened the package to find a book titled _Charlotte's Web _by a man—or at least he assumed it was a man, since only men used two initials and a last name for pseudonyms—named E.B. White. There was a young girl with reddish brown hair on the cover, holding a pig and surrounded by many other farm animals, all of which were looking up at a spider web whose thread made the title.

It was a short little thing, filled with inked illustrations. _This is a children's book, _Draco realized, which almost made him not want to read it. But the lure of the muggle book was too tempting, and eventually he decided not reading it would be worse than the alternative.

_One last try, Draco, _he thought to himself as he sat down on his desk. Despite how excited he felt at the prospect of the new book and the fact that M had not read the little piece of parchment, he had to remember that he still couldn't continue to write to the mysterious girl. Maybe it was luck that she was too stubborn for her own good and insisted on sending him another book. But he had to end it, once and for all.

_Dear M,_

_ I don't think you understand. I __can't__ continue writing to you. I thank you for the books, I really do, but I really can't keep this up. I hope you understand. Thank you again for the books._

_-Draco_

_(P.S., please don't reply again.)_

There, that should do it. Or, at least, he hoped. He couldn't afford to have any more contact with M; for the sake of his family, his life—everything. He hoped she would understand.

Draco felt a strange ache in his heart as he watched Artemis fly away. But he pushed the feeling away; there were more important matters at hand.

**~YIC~**

Today was the day. He wasn't sure when; all he knew that it was the day.

His father was coming home that day. Coming home to his family, back to the Manor he barely had to work for; the wife he never had to fall in love with; the son he didn't bother to support.

Draco wasn't sure what he should have been expected. A dramatic entrance, filled with dark, mysterious flourishes? Or would it be more subtle? A knock on the door and a group of Deatheaters in cloaks? Or maybe they would fly in, landing on the balcony… Or maybe it would be just a simple apparition, his father putting down the wards for them and allowing them to appear into the parlor. What to expect from a man who was nearly not even a man?

It seemed the Lord Voldemort wasn't one for dramatic entrances when it came to returning one of his failed Deatheaters back to their home.

Narcissa and Draco were in the parlor room when it happened. The room where Artemis had flown in so many times, carrying one of her packages or a letter from M.

Naricssa was sitting up against one of the stiff couches, trying to decide if drumming her fingernails onto the side table would be considered unladylike.

Draco sat opposite of her, reading a book—a wizarding one, of course. He was not stupid enough to read Charlotte's Web in front of the Dark Lord, his father, any Deatheater; or any one he knew, for that matter.

It was taking him an unusual amount of time to read this one. His mother had him running around the house, making adjustments to the silver on the mantle or the direction the head of the table in the dining room was facing. Finally, about an hour ago, his mother had made her final decision and let Draco rest.

Of course that just might have been because she did not want Lord Voldemort walking in while she and her son were doing housekeeping.

Then, there was a knock at the door.

Three raps of the silver knocker that changed Draco's life.

**~YIC~**

Lord Voldemort did not stay for dinner. Which was expected, of course. Draco could not picture the Dark Lord sitting at their dining room table eating roast pig with the rest of them.

He said he had other business to attend to, which was fine with Draco. For the most part, the Dark Lord had ignored him. So the Slytherin had stood in the corner, observing carefully.

He watched as his parents greeted each other formally, and though Lucius's hardened gaze seemed true, it made Draco sick to see his mother's crazed want behind her obedient, proper Deatheater mask. Her devotion to his father was maddening, sometimes, to Draco, as he knew his father didn't return those feelings by half.

And he would bet that his mother knew that, too, which made him feel even sicker.

There were only three Deatheaters that had accompanied Lord Voldemort to Malfoy Manor that day: Wormtail, Aunt Bella, and Snape. All were invited for dinner, but only Snape accepted. But that was normal.

The minute the Dark Lord and his little party of Deatheaters exited the house, Draco suffered through the sight of his mother flinging himself at his father, sobbing uncontrollably, while Lucius awkwardly held on to his wife. Just because he wasn't in love with Narcissa didn't mean he felt nothing towards her.

As his parents continued their one-sided reunion, Snape pulled him aside; or, at least, farther aside than he had been before.

"What have you been getting up to over the summer, Draco?" he asked.

Draco swallowed. Did Snape know about his letters to M? No, that was impossible! Unless his mother wrote about it to him… No, his mother wouldn't do that. Would she?

"Nothing much, Severus," he said, trying to keep his face still and his voice even. This was not the time to panic; not when his godfather seemed so especially close to the Dark Lord.

Snape looked at him for a moment, and for a second Draco thought the man was pondering whether or not to invade his mind. But then he blinked, and the worry was gone, replaced by the uplifting feeling of relief.

"You can't get into trouble right now, Draco," Snape said. "This is vital for your parents and yourself. You screw this up, and you will pay dearly." his breath seemed to catch in his throat, as if he wasn't supposed to say something.

"Screw what up?" Draco asked, brow furrowed. It certainly would be important if Snape had tried to avoid saying it in the first place.

"Just keep your nose down, and be a good little boy," his godfather hissed. "This summer means more than you know."

* * *

**A/N:**

It's here! I apologize DEEPLY for the horrifyingly long wait, and I really truly hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Now, I'm sorry if I offend anyone my saying this, but you've got to have shit for brains if you haven't guessed who M is by now. Pardon my language.

Do you want me to tell you a secret? I only have six more chapter planned for this story. On the bright side, I am COMPLETELY finished writing the ending, so as soon as I get that penultimate chapter done, I'll be ready with the last to keep you guys from waiting. I've got it all planned out in my head now.

Thanks so much for putting up with my evil little hiatus that may or may not have driven you insane.

Again, hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thanks BUNCHES for all of the brilliant reviews you guys have given to me! They mean so much! Oh, and if you did know already, I've started a blog!: realmweaver - fanfiction . blogspot . com (without the spaces, of course) So just in case you are feeling like exploding because I haven't updated in a month, I probably will have posted a reason why on it.

So peace out for now, and I promise I'll punch out this next chapter A S A P!

Yours ever,  
~Weaver


End file.
